


show me what your past is made of

by adrift_me



Category: GreedFall (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Canon Compliant, De Sardet explores Vasco's tattoos, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Sweet, because i did while writing it, this is so sweet you will squee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:49:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22654267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrift_me/pseuds/adrift_me
Summary: Under her fingertips, De Sardet learns of every tattoo on Vasco's body.“Words are not sufficient for a life of a Naut,” he replies, cupping her cheek in his warm palm. She eagerly leans in for the touch, shamelessly needy for his affection. “But I can show you.”
Relationships: De Sardet/Vasco (GreedFall)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 63





	show me what your past is made of

**Author's Note:**

> Who needs sleep when you can write fluff about De Sardet/Vasco?  
> I've been so fascinated with Nauts' tattoos, I really wanted to write a soft story about De Sardet learning what every tattoo was for. I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> [Come chat with me on tumblr :) I also take prompts!](https://a-driftamongopenstars.tumblr.com/)

“Your first,” Vasco says, his gaze reverently studying the blue contours of De Sardet’s tattoos. Line against the other, still tingling with pain, rise up towards her lip. “One of us now. And here is to many more, my tempest.”

His voice is a welcoming harbour, the way it soothes De Sardet’s mind and soul. She smiles at him as his thumb gently caresses her chin, now less so about the tattoos and more about the tenderness of their union.

“When all this is over,” she whispers, “I earnestly hope to be marked with the many adventures we may experience.”

“Your journey may be long… but I am grateful to be permitted to witness it by your side,” Vasco replies, and his thumb slips over De Sardet’s lower lip, feeling for the chapped skin and held back breath.

She moves her lips and kisses his calloused thumb, closing her eyes and relishing the amorous gesture. For a moment, it is all that she feels, that, and the softness of blankets under her body. The way the bed sags under their weight. The calm and quiet night in her room, where something beautiful takes place tonight.

“Tell me your story,” De Sardet asks, her voice quieter than the fire crackling in the hearth.

“Words are not sufficient for a life of a Naut,” he replies, cupping her cheek in his warm palm. She eagerly leans in for the touch, shamelessly needy for his affection. “But I can show you.”

He guides her into the pool of blankets and pillows in the center of the bed, and she follows longingly, helping him ease the straps and belts of his coat and free the buttons of hers. Next go the shirts, their pants, the undergarments, and all that time De Sardet hungrily watches for the hints of stories, distilled into the inked lines all over Vasco’s body.

Soon, there is nothing between them but the barrier of kiss hunger, claiming their mouths.

Oh the Naut kisses her ardently. Much like he calls her his tempest, in truth, it is him that clashes the waves and passion, and she drowns, like a rat on a sinking ship, too tiny to comprehend the power of that affection. His tongue makes her body quiver, and the goosebumps prickle her skin. At least, it is a comfort to know that her lips do the same to her lover.

When kissing simmers down to carefully bumping of noses and lips pressed against smiles, Vasco takes De Sardet’s entire attention to the narration across his body. They begin with the younger days, the mark of belonging on his chin, same as De Sardet has just received. She knows that story already, of course, and it is only the key to discovering more.

There are curves and intertwining lines that talk of first storms, and those lines swivel into beautiful birds on Vasco’s shoulders.

“The first crossing,” he explains, following De Sardet’s finger as she traces the thin lines of blue. “The first time I witnessed the volcano. And the screams of birds in search of easy prey. The creaking of the mast in the unfamiliar winds…”

De Sardet smiles. She saw it, too, the first and last time she crossed the seas to reach this island. The birds were an omen of tragedies and the mast did not creak, but whispered warnings. If only she had enough experience to heed them.

Vasco’s brows furrow softly, and she hurries to smooth the creases on his forehead. Her lips, ever so gentle, never fail to soothe his skin.

“What is this one for?” she touches a spot on his chest, an intricate knot that intertwines with the web of other tattoos.

“The first member of my crew to fall,” Vasco sighs quietly, and together they give justice to the memory of the fallen Naut. “An unfortunate encounter with the beast of the sea. Swallowed him whole. And we survived to tell the tales.”

“You have seen plenty of creatures and beasts now, Vasco, roaming the tides of land. Will you tattoo them too?”

“They are part of my story, true,” he nods, sliding De Sardet’s hand between his and kissing a delicate wrist, where a scar softly folds up the arm. “But my tattoos may only speak of my life at sea.”

“I understand,” she nods, and proceeds the gentle stroke of her fingertips down to another tattoo.

She searches, and he tells, every memento that he worked into his skin as a permanent milestone. The first ship under his command blossoms across his chest as a massive bird, spreading its wings, lines above the nipples and feathers of ink mirrored on his sternum.

“Is there one for a lover?” De Sardet asks, her cheeks flushing a gentle pink. Vasco laughs, that scratchy noise in the deep of his throat that she can never have enough of. And as he laughs, he pulls her closer, covering her skin with a blanket. It weighs on her heavily, and his laughter wraps around her like a cocoon.

“That one is missing yet from my extensive chronicle. However…” he whispers against De Sardet’s lips, barely catching them in a kiss fairer and lighter than a morning calm. “A spot on my heart, reserved for whoever takes it, is vacant. And it aches, my tempest… it aches for ink as I ache for you.”

The tenderness of his words makes De Sardet’s chest clench. She kisses him, tongue pressing to explore more of what tattoos could never tell, and he lets her, and he embraces her, taking her into another day of his story.


End file.
